


With a Sigh

by gotfanfiction



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: A little sad at the end, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Biting, Cock Rings, Come Inflation, Double Penetration, Gangbang, Ghost Sex, Human/Monster Romance, Large Cock, M/M, Monsterfucker Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Off-Screen Murder, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Praise Kink, Radom Douchebag, Stomach Bulge, Tentacle Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-18
Updated: 2020-10-18
Packaged: 2021-03-08 18:54:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,407
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27091588
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gotfanfiction/pseuds/gotfanfiction
Summary: So many hands, caressing and grabbing him, holding his legs up and apart, so many mouths kissing and biting at his skin.
Relationships: Geralt/Ghost
Comments: 14
Kudos: 144





	With a Sigh

**Author's Note:**

> We all know who to blame for this. Written for the SordidSaovine Witcher Event on twitter, but mostly written for Hannah, who enables me at all times uwu
> 
> Title from exactly where a person like myself would find a title for a fic that's 2k of ghost sex ;]

Someone had purchased an old house in the hopes of renovating it and either living there themselves or selling it to someone else, but they had run into a problem almost immediately: it was haunted. Things knocked over or moved around, cold spots, and no matter how they tried to get in, the master bedroom was firmly off limits, people often pushed out by some invisible force, once through the window they’d climbed in. 

Enter Geralt, the White Wolf, the Hero of the Hour, the Witcher who had just happened to see the plea on the notice board, who also had need of coin and a place to sleep that wasn’t outdoors for once. He’d take a haunted house at this point, fairly sure his hair was more twig than actual hair at this point. 

The new master of the house was a limp-wristed simpering man, paunchy and vaguely lecherous, heavily limping from his spectral encounter, and Geralt disliked him both for his damp handshake and his insistence that Geralt bathe right away, in his private bath, in his ridiculous home. But he rarely turned down a free bath, and took a spiteful sort of pleasure in draping his clothes over the peepholes dotted around the overly luxurious room. 

When he went back downstairs, finally clean and feeling almost like a person again, the foiled man was scowling, but Geralt could care less. He thanked the man as genuinely as he could, considering the circumstances, and set off with a chuckle at the thought of all the grime he’d left in the once gleaming copper tub. 

Geralt stopped snickering when he actually got to the place, however, his medallion humming, quietly but steadily. He could feel a strange kind of energy permeating the house, the grounds, but it didn’t feel malicious. An insistent cold persisted in the whole area, at odds with the summer heat, but strangely welcoming. 

He hadn't lived for as long as he had by letting himself be duped by something seeming peaceful, however, and when he shouldered the doors open he had his sword at the ready, fingers curled, ready to cast but -there was nothing waiting for him, no unseen force shoving him back out the door, nothing more than a prickling awareness skittering over his skin. 

Geralt stepped inside, the door swinging shut behind him, never a good sign, and he felt, all of a sudden, the gentle drag of fingers down his cheek, cold. Another touch, at his hips, and whisper of a voice,  _ "Well, hello handsome." _

His eyebrows raised in surprise before he could stop them. Cold fingers on his lips, a hand on his shoulder, gripping lightly. The energy pulsed, and there were suddenly hands running through his hair as well, his tie thrown somewhere behind him. 

"What the fuck?" He shook the invisible hands off, stepped...away, perhaps, from whatever or whoever had been touching him. "That's- stop that!" 

The hands were pulling him upstairs, and he dug his heels in. The voice was laughing at him, which, no, he wasn't going to deal with that. He had stopped in front of a dusty portrait of a ludicrously attractive man, carelessly tossed on the floor, framed cracked, and he put the tip of his sword in between laughing green eyes. 

"Tell me what you want,"  _ or the painting gets it, _ he finished in his head, not quite willing to be that ridiculous out loud. The hands vanished and the energy rippled the air around him like a sigh, and he could almost  _ see  _ the pout. 

_ "I just wanted a last little bit of fun,"  _ the voice was silken, a practiced seducer,  _ "My last lover killed me in bed in a fit of jealousy, can you believe it? And some wretch thinks he can come along and just what, try to force some young thing in  _ my  _ bed?"  _

Geralt snarled and bolted up the stairs, and yes, there was a faint scent of fear, and some blood, and doors to the master bedroom had seen better days, one torn clean off its hinges, the other cracked. The blood was old, though, soaked into the mattress, nothing new, the bedclothes strangely pristine. 

Changed the sheets but didn't bother tossing the mattress someone had been murdered on, and that cretin really was a wretch, wasn't he? As soon as Geralt got his coin he was going to beat the shit out of him, to hell with it. 

_ "Atrocious behavior. Threw him right out, didn't I?"  _ A swirl of movement around him, dust sparkling in the moonlight filtering through gauzy curtains.  _ "Scared the poor boy too, but I imagine he would be grateful if he knew. Kept everyone out after that." _

Geralt sighed, sheathed his sword, and sat on the bed. The hands came back, plucking at his armor, in his hair again, and the mattress dipped as if someone was kneeling on it. A last bit of fun, huh? A kiss on his neck, still cold, but followed by a playful nip. 

"What happens if I say yes?" Geralt could feel someone in his lap, now, hands undoing his armor, and he tried not to think of how many there were, shivering at the wet swipe of a tongue where he'd been nibbled on. 

_ "Oh, I'm not sure, dear, but it wouldn't hurt to try? Grant this poor man his last wish, hmm?" _

He was blinded when his shirt was pulled up and off, arms falling to brace himself against, gods, the sudden presence behind him. "Is it really only you? It feels like more?" 

Laughing again.  _ "The only good thing about being dead, my handsome Witcher, is this. And I've been alone for such a long time. Not much else to do but practice, eh? Be a dear, now, and let me have my way with you." _

It wouldn't hurt to try, indeed, and Geralt was already planning on burning the mattress later, and perhaps the portrait as well, to be certain. He wriggled his hips, trousers and smalls pulled off by more invisible hands, boots clattering to the floor, even as others pinched at his chest and nipples. 

He let himself be arranged, shuddering as the nips turned into bites, his cock plumping up, laying on his stomach, and there were fingers pressing at him, slick with  _ something, _ just as chilly as every touch. A gentle hand turned his head to the side, and that was a cock at his lips; he opened his mouth, and was surprised at the size of it, the thought of that in him curling his toes. 

So many hands, caressing and grabbing him, holding his legs up and apart, so many mouths kissing and biting at his skin, and he came when one sucked a kiss directly on his hole, all over his own chest, moaning around the prick halfway down his throat. It was so fucking  _ weird,  _ when the specter filled his mouth with release, the taste off and near freezing, but he swallowed as much as he could, eyes watering. 

_ "Oh,  _ good _ lad, you've done this before, haven't you?" _

"Not, uh, not exactly like this, but yeah," Geralt's voice was raspier than usual, and he was shivering constantly now; he couldn't have said if it was from the cold or the praise or the unrelenting hands on him. 

There were at least three fingers in him now, a tongue pushing in with them, definitely too long to be human, the sounds wet and dirty, and when another cock tapped at his mouth he let it in, let himself relax into the sensations. A laugh at the back of his neck, followed by a  _ mean _ bite, and he couldn't have choked back his moan at that even if hadn't also been sucking a cock. 

The air rippled again, pressing into him, the hands getting rougher.  _ "Is it like that, darling? Would you like me to bruise you? I could ruin you, you know. I could fuck you so thoroughly you couldn't walk after. My lovely thing, split open on my cock, begging for more. And now I could give you more than one, isn't that right? You've taken my fingers so well, you gorgeous thing you." _

Geralt squeezed his eyes shut, nodding once. The cock in his mouth slid away, and he could feel seed splattering over his face. "I...you could? Could you?" 

Spectral energy banded across his limbs, holding him still; the presence at his back solidified into something more  _ there, _ more real, breath puffing damply on his neck, cock sliding wet against his skin.  _ "Well, let's get to it, then." _

The fingers were gone, replaced with the biggest prick he'd even taken, and he was glad for the cold, and it soothed even as it burned, pressing in, already too much. He was whining, trying to twist away, but the hands were running up and down his body, and his cock was caught in an invisible mouth, slurping loudly. He strained to breathe, chest heaving, dizzy. 

How was one more going to fit, _gods,_ it was so much, on the knife edge of true pain, and him trapped, wanting _more,_ _begging_ for harder right away, his partner laughing at him again, even as invisible hips did exactly as promised, his legs already shaking. 

He was coming again, head thrown back, his own come sliding hot down his prick, a sharp contrast to the innate coldness of his lover, near burning. His nipples were red and raw, chewed up and swollen but he still begged for more. A cock in his throat again, the one at his back moving and shifting to touch at his sensitive rim, whatever was keeping everything slick dripping down thick onto the bedspread, and Geralt moaned his yes, hands holding his neck steady as his mouth was used. 

His whole body jerked when something wriggled against him, pushing its way inside, and he would have shouted when more joined in, the hands squeezing at his throat in mild warning, and his cock spurted and jumped, but something wrapped around him, keeping him from orgasm. 

_ "Not quite finished, love, you can have your last when I'm satisfied." _ The voice was ragged now, some of the polish rubbed off, and he could see this voice belonging to the young man in the portrait downstairs. He was swallowing again, belly over full, nodding his consent.  _ "Open those lovely eyes of yours, if you would. Don't close them until I say. I don't want you to miss the show, darling." _

Geralt was pushed around until he was half sat up, his eyes widening at what he saw. A face, flickering, outlined in silver, effervescent in the moonlight, hands all over him, disconnected from any limbs, and he had been a beautiful man when he was alive, was still beautiful now, even with tendrils of light writhing from his hips, still fucking into Geralt's body, working him open for another prick. 

He was being kissed, eyes open as he'd been bade, a cold tongue swiping spectral seed from his mouth, the man doubled perfectly behind him, eyes glowing and eerily bright. Geralt grunted when his prostate was brushed, and yelped when the next thrust slammed right into it. 

The tendrils abruptly vanished, and he was held very still as another cock worked its way in, hands like iron bands across his hips. His lover whispered praise throughout, and he could feel tears pricking at his nose, welling up in his eyes. 

Geralt was trembling when the second cock bottomed out, his own still hard and leaking over his belly, and there it was, another breathless laugh, a hard kiss to his lips, a nasty bite right where his shoulder met his neck, and more on his chest. 

_ "Would you like more, darling? I have one last trick for you."  _ That smirk was a work of art, literally, and he didn't think he could manage more but- 

"Yes, do it, I can take it," Geralt shouted when the pressure inside him increased, fuck, they were getting _bigger,_ big enough that he could see his stomach swell, oh _fuck. Gods, he was gonna die fucking happy._

They began thrusting in turn, each bludgeoning their way over his prostate, filling him so much he was sure he could feel it in his chest, and it was so difficult to keep his eyes open, keep his head up even supported, and he didn't bothering swallowing back his screaming or moaning. He was sure his lover enjoyed it. 

The hands were frantic on him now, one grabbing his prick and twisting around; he could  _ see, _ now, whatever slick was being used dripping onto his skin, keeping the glide frictionless and tortuously good. Geralt watched his lover's mouth fall open, face twisted, gasping for breath he no longer needed, eyes locked with his right as he felt that first burst of ice cold fluid. 

He was fucked through that, and through the other, both cocks still hard enough to slam against his swollen gland. He was full to bursting, joints screeching at him in protest, when the tendril around his sack disappeared and he came so explosively his vision blacked out, head tossed back and screaming like he was being murdered. 

Geralt was gently lowered onto the disgusting blankets, not that he cared at the moment. The hands blinked out one by one, some giving him a friendly grope before they vanished, and soon all he was left with was the man in the portrait, looming over him, mouth smiling but eyes sad. 

_ "I was worried this wouldn't be enough,"  _ the specter whispered, voice gone soft again but cracking around the edges.  _ "But you wore me right out, didn't you, you wonderful man. So beautiful. Wouldn't it have been something, to kiss you while I was still living, a warm thing? Well, let's hope we can meet again, sometime, hmm? I am sorry to leave you with this mess, darling, normally I'm much more polite." _

A barely felt kiss, lingering cold on his lips, and Geralt was alone, sore and well used, a little sad but mostly just satisfied. He let himself sleep after kicking the sopping wet duvet onto the floor, and the next morning, when he felt he could move without tipping over he got down to the dirty business of burning the mattress and, regretfully, the painting as well. 

To be certain. 

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Haha, made it sad at the end, because of course I did. Come yell at me on twitter @gotfanfiction


End file.
